Jazz at 1642

My new favorite bar for many reasons, not least of which is the Temple Street Quartet. On this particular night, I went on a whim, seeking soft light and people after a day of working alone indoors. There were two tables near the band that turned out to be reserved, but the woman sitting there warmly welcomed me to join anyway. She was waiting for some friends; I was writing in my notebook. Friends arrived. Woman asked what I was writing, joking that I was writing that I'd just met some cool people. I pushed the notebook toward her and suggested maybe she should write the entry herself. One of friends opened her mouth wide, shocked at the sarcasm, but she also pulled my table closer to theirs. "I hope you want to join us because I'm already doing this." And then we were all in it together. Another of the woman's friends arrived and he assumed I was with them. Leaned in and gave me a hug. He was tall and blond. Hair buzzed short. Nails painted black. Tattoos. Lean. A gentle energy. He's an artist. The woman is a photographer. They collaborate on things. Wine was poured. They had a bottle. They added to my glass. On her way out, one of the woman's friends said she'd look me up.